


Something Lost

by PaigeTheBook



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Future, Hogwarts, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-03-31 12:37:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3978304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaigeTheBook/pseuds/PaigeTheBook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin's lost something, and he's been waiting for it to come back for a long, long time. But in the meantime, he's made himself useful. He goes to Hogwarts ever couple decades, he fights in wizarding worlds, and he never lets anyone know who he is. He goes by a different name every year, and so far, no one's found him out.</p>
<p>But this is his fifth year at Hogwarts, and alongside his trio of best friends, maybe he'll find that some people are worth opening up to.</p>
<p>And maybe this change is provoked by the blond haired transfer student from Durmstrang.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Merlin stood in the center of Diagon Alley, watching wizards and witches flow past him in all directions. Robes of deep reds and rich blacks flooded the street in their rush for magical supplies, most of them toting along young teenagers for back to school shopping.

This would be the start of his fifth year in Hogwarts, a school that trained children in the arts of magic. The school was essentially a castle not unlike Camelot's, founded several hundred years ago, and had suffered its fair share of tragedy. Merlin attended the school every few decades to keep himself from becoming too out of touch with the wizarding world.

He'd seen terrible and brilliant things there. He'd shared butterbeers and firewhisky in dark corners and under the stars. He'd traipsed through the forbidden forest, a place that was dangerous to most anyone but him. The school had once been full of students from all backgrounds, offering classes about any subject that could be dreamed up. This time was different. Too many families had been killed or hurt enough to not let their children go, and the castle was grieving the loss. But it would right itself in time. It always did. The castle had already had a decade to heal and learn, as had he. He'd fought on the front lines here, under a different name and an older body, against Voldemort, but had never seen the man face to face. As it was, he had just done all he could to save those hurt by the war, and he had done well enough in that.

His friends from that time were either long dead or out of his reach entirely, to the best of his knowledge. He didn't try to contact the living, not when he would just cause a disruption in the lives they've all been rebuilding. Besides, knowing him, he'd mess up the aging spell and end up a decade or two older than they'd expect him to be.

“Emrys, don’t just stand there!” an arm looped through his left, and Merlin cracked a grin, "If you're going to daze off, don't do it in the middle of the street."

“C’mon, you’ll get run over,” another arm looped through his right, “Not that that wouldn’t be interesting.”

Merlin laughed, effectively breaking out of the mood he had put himself in. The Weasely twins had that effect on him—and anyone else they talked to, for the matter. In this moment of his life, they were his best friends.

“It’s good to see you guys, too,” Merlin said, his mouth stretched into a grin (one that he’s been told is too big for his face), “How was your summer? And how are your parents?”

“Never mind that-“

“You really need to come to our house someday because-“

“Lee-“

“Lee Jordan, he commentates on Quidditch matches-“

“Yes, I know Lee,” Merlin interrupted. They were such a close knit group that it was a wonder why the twins always felt the need to introduce him. It was also a wonder why he even tried to interrupt at all. The twins carried on as if he hadn’t spoken.

“We all came up with so many new prank candies-“

“You would have loved them. Come visit with us next time, Emrys,” Fred finished, always the one to focus more on including his friends in his adventures than focusing on the adventures themselves. George nodded as he bumped against Fred.

“You know how my family is,” Merlin shrugged. The story that the twins, and everyone else for the matter, knew was that he came from very reclusive, very paranoid druids who wanted him home during school holidays, if only to help them prepare for the winter and summer solstices. Druid clans were known to keep to themselves, and this cover gave him all the explanation he needed for why his magic was different, “Besides, I actually like grinding up potions. It's calming.”

“Bet that’s why Snape loves you so much,” George snorted, “It’s no fair. He hates the rest of us Griffindors.”

Merlin was just glad he hadn't met Snape before this particular Hogwarts term. From what he's seen, the man was sharp, and there's no way he would have let Merlin skate by if he'd recognized him from the war.

“It’s because I don’t melt or blow up cauldrons. Something that you both-“ Merlin unlocked his arms from theirs, “Tend to do. On a weekly basis.”

“I blame the Slytherins,” Fred said matter-of-factly.

“Yes, because Slytherins are the cause of all bad in the world,” Merlin rolled his eyes and paused at the charmed door in front of them. They had made it to the shop famous for its sweets, and he held open the door for them all.

“We keep telling you-“ Fred started.

“That they are! Slytherins are evil,” George finished, "They're the only Hogwarts demographic that doesn't buy any of our products. What better proof could there be?"

Merlin opened his mouth to argue, but quickly thought better. What was he going to say? That he’d met Salazar Slytherin once at a tavern, and that the man kept coming back to keep the town Merlin, who'd been the town drunk at the time, company? That they’d become friends, just as Sal and Merlin, without any titles getting in the way? Or maybe that he'd been sorted Slytherin just as many times, if not more, that he'd been sorted Griffindor?

“We’re all just kids,” Merlin said, looking down, “The founders wouldn’t have built this school with the purpose of...of condemning kids to stereotypes.”

“Aw, Merlin, don’t sulk,” George said, grabbing a package of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Jelly Beans. They were his favorite, and the disgusting tastes often inspired George to make even more disgusting pranks.

“I’m not sulking,” Merlin said, ignoring the look that Fred and George gave each other, “And I’m sorry guys, but I have to leave. I need to say goodbye to someone before I meet you all on the train tomorrow. Save me a spot in whatever train car you guys find?”

“Of course,” Fred said, clapping a hand on George’s shoulder.

“We’ll see you later,” George said. They waved and watched him as he left, and he felt their gaze on him until he disappeared into the crowd that flowed through Diagon Alley. He pulled a cloak out of his bag, a weatherproof black one he’s had for quite some years, and walked to the flower shop closest to Gringotts.

The Asian woman behind the counter smiled at him as he walked in, “You again? I had a feeling you’d be coming in soon. Getting flowers for that special someone again?”

“Of course,” he flashed a toothy grin at the wrinkled woman, “Can I have the usual, Mindy”

She nodded and walked out from behind the counter, her back hunched as she looked at him. He had known her since she was young, just taking over her grandmother’s shop. Having grown up serving all kinds of creatures from the wizarding world, she didn't find it strange that he didn't age-- or that he was often a different age every time that they met. Whether she thought him a vampire, a Sidhe, or elf, she didn’t care as long as she was paid for her flowers.

She soon handed him the usual bouquet wrapped in newspaper, and he gave her the right amount of wizard’s money in return accompanied with a sizable tip. After a few thousand years, one tended to collect quite the sum of money, and Merlin had no one to spend it on besides the select group of people he associated with at any particular time.

“Can I use your Floo again?” he asked, clutching the light blue flowers to his chest. They were always hard to find, but this shop always managed to have whatever flower its customers needed. Back in Camelot, they’d dot the fields—thousands of them, and all of them a shade of blue so familiar that it almost hurt to look at.

Mindy nodded and jerked a tanned finger towards the chimney at the back of the room, “You know the drill?”

“I know the drill,” he nodded. Wrapping the bouquet tightly in his grip, he thought of exactly where he wanted to go. An old cabin he’d found just a few decades back and had connected to the Floo network to make travel easier. Like most wizards, he preferred the fire to apparating.

He landed in a daze in the abandoned, dusty cabin. No one even knew that it existed except for him. He looked around, taking in a breath of the stale air. Dust covered the surface of every shelf, portrait, counter, and floor, and the sunlight was trying its best to peer through the boarded up windows. He shrugged his shoulders and left the cabin like that. He came here so rarely that the state of it didn't bother him.

And then he started walking.

He walked alongside rivers.

He walked under the spotted cover of the forest.

He walked.

And walked.

And walked.

All the while, he was thinking of the reason why he was here, the person he'd bought these flowers for. He didn't know when he'd started this tradition. He would always find himself here, just wanting a moment's peace and a place to talk, but it felt wrong coming empty handed. Arthur would've mocked him for his choice in flowers ( _Merlin,_ wildflowers? Really? There are better flowers decorating _servant's_ quarters). Merlin's lips quirked up at that thought. It was easier to think of him here.

His feet touched pristine white sand then, and he walked until he reached the water's edge. The grass was green here, greener than Merlin could remember it ever being. The water was clear enough to reflect the cloudless sky above, and the sunlight glittered off of the calm ripples of the lake. It was a beautiful day, as it had been for the last decade and a half. Rough weather hadn't touched this sacred place in years, but today was different. It was as if the land itself was  _singing_.

He sat down on the sandy ground, laying the flowers beside him, “It’s only been half a year since I visited, but I miss you. I might start visiting more often, but then again, if I start doing that, I’ll just never leave.”

He sighed, “It’s not like I’m moving on. I want to be here, I do. I will always wait for you. I'm going to wait my whole life, which means that I’ll never stop waiting. But the world needs me sometimes.”

He didn’t know why he felt the need to defend himself. Arthur wasn’t actually here to complain, but this place had soaked up so much of his essence that even just sitting there always gave Merlin an echo of what it had felt like to be beside him. The place was a bubble of pure energy, even more so now that Merlin regularly visited. His hands tingled with the excess magic that was pouring into him.

“But you’ll never guess what Fred and George did the other day. They sent me a letter last week telling me all about it. You’d have loved them. Or you’d at least love George,” Merlin paused before continuing. And once he really started, he couldn’t stop. The sun kept creeping lower and lower in the sky as he spilled everything that had happened to him since he last visited. Which, granted, wasn't all excited. But as long as he kept talking, he'd be able to pretend Arthur was listening.

He laughed to himself, and sometimes, it was easy to imagine exactly what Arthur would have said to him if he were actually here, actually listening. He could hear his own name on the tip of Arthur’s tongue, the way he’d drawl it out in a complaint, or in an order, or in a sigh that clear meant that Merlin was confusing him in one of his rare shows of wisdom.

Merlin laughed again and found himself wiping at a stray tear as the sun’s last rays glinted over the water before him.

“Well Arthur, you big prat, I’ll be back in a few months. I’m off to Hogwarts again,” he said, brushing sand off of his human jeans, “Hope you like the flowers.”

The only answer he got in return was the whisper of wind through leaves and the long grass, but Merlin just breathed in the honeysuckle sweetened air and smiled.


	2. In Which Merlin Has A Magical Reaction To A Candy And Meets An Old Friend

When Merlin sat down into an empty train car, confident that his friends would find him, he expected it to be the usual ride to Hogwarts. Granted, normal for him always included trick candies and at least one near death experience, but he wasn't about to complain. Hogwarts was waiting just beyond these train tracks, and it was calling to him in a way that it never before had. This school had become home to him.

Lee found him first, which almost surprised Merlin. The boy was popular, and on top of that, he was insanely nice. He was always so busy running through the train to check up on each of his friends that he rarely sat down in their train car until after their wheels started moving. Lee's blindingly white teeth answered Merlin's raised eyebrow as he immediately dug out several newspaper clippings from his leather bag, "Emrys, you'll never guess what happened this summer."

Merlin's lie of a backstory often had its benefits. He spent his summers and breaks visiting different druid clans or magical creatures, making sure the allies he'd collected over the years were protected, which meant that at the beginning of the school year, he was often behind in any main muggle or wizarding news. So Lee kept a log of any headlines Merlin would find interesting once the school year started again. Lee's news used to consist of mainly Quidditch turnouts, but fortunately, had since grown to include Merlin's interests as well.

Lee gave him a summary of the headlines as he gave the thin stack to Merlin, "Krum's out for at least half the season because of a bad curse on a new broom, an entire muggle town in France had to be obliviated because a dragon decided to nest there, we have a new Defense teacher, Sirius Black is out of Azkaban, and I just met the new exchange student from Durmstrang. He seems kind of uppity if you ask me, but that doesn't take away from how nice he looks in his r-"

Merlin sat almost completely still in his seat, looking down at Lee with wide eyes, "Sirius Black?"

"I'm not surprised you know about him," Lee said, "You're the biggest history nut I've ever met."

He tuned Lee's commentary out as he yanked out the largest piece of news in the pile.

Sirius Black's mugshot stared guiltily at him. He knew Black. He hadn't had the pleasure of knowing the marauders during their time in Hogwarts, but he had fought alongside them all in the war. James, Lily, Remus, Peter...and Black. Merlin had known them all as good people, as the best people he could have ever possibly met in such a dark time. And Black's betrayal had killed three of his friends. Black had ruined what they had all had.

If that _dog_ had gotten out of Azkaban-

Well, he's going to wish that he was still surrounded by Dementors by the time Merlin was through.

Staring at the paper, he barely noticed the look Lee was giving him or when the twins came in after the train had already started moving, late from making sure the rest of the Weasely's were settled in their own cars. Merlin shook his head and put the news clippings down to read over later, "Hey guys. How're Ron and the rest?"

His attempts at acting casual seemed to go over well, even though he hadn't gotten any better at lying than he had been in his days in Camelot. George and Lee launched into their own conversation about Quidditch strategies while Fred sat next to Merlin.

"Ron's peachy, except for the fact that Percy's been biting his head off for the past weekend. He's been blamed for stealing Perce's Head Boy Badge -that was George and me, by the way- and nicking a picture of his girlfriend. It's a wonder he even has a girl with that personality, though," Fred snickered. He opened his hand to reveal a wrapped candy, "Chocolate?"

"I've learned better than to accept chocolate from you," Merlin laughed.

Fred gave him more updates on the Granger girl, Harry, and Ginny. They really did care for their third years, though Merlin was wondering if something should be done about the Malfoy heir. Merlin knew better than to mess with a destiny that wasn't his own, but surely it wouldn't matter if he meddled with the rivalry between Harry and Draco? Merlin had faced the elder Malfoy, Lucius, once on the battle field. They were both hidden behind masks, but on that night, his opponent's platinum blond hair had been a dead giveaway.

Battling the pros and cons of pushing Draco into the side of light, Merlin barely noticed the window beside him start to frost over. Draco might act as a spy for the Order in the end, like Snape had, or he could double cross them and betray them all. He wondered what motivated the boy: was he acting on his own prejudice, or just siding with his family? Could he be redeemed, with just a little nudge in the right direction? Merlin was wary of believing that people could be converted onto the right side -Mordred was proof of that- but he was hesitant to sacrifice an innocent boy to his own fear.

And then, suddenly, he was staring at a shrunken figure hidden by a large hood. The deathly spectre was flying outside the train, inching closer, the inky blackness under the hood unnervingly familiar.

Merlin's breaths came out in short, icy gasps.

He heard someone scream from just a few cars over. The doracha- no, the dementor- was coming through the window, formless hands reaching for him and

"Leoht!" the old spell slipped out of his mouth before he could stop himself. His train car filled with a brilliant light as his magic sang through his body, ecstatic to be allowed free reign with a spell from the Old religion, and when it faded, the dementor was gone. People could never leave well enough alone. Someone decided to use a cousin species of the Doracha and  _employ them under the Ministry,_ as if that was the best idea in the world.

"That was mental," Fred breathed, "Completely mental."

"What spell was that?" George asked, looking at him in a funny way. He always had this look in his eye when Merlin's eyes glowed, as if he knew Merlin wasn't telling them the truth when it came to magic.

"An old druid spell," Merlin said, his eyes closed as he tried to regain strict control of the magic prickling at his skin.  It was harder to control when he used the new, more restrictive spells of the time period. He wasn't built for the spells that were in use today.  Just then, the door to their car slammed open, revealing Daphne Greengrass. She was a Griffindor, as were most of the occupants of this part of the train, but she was too gossipy for Merlin to particularly like her.

"Did you hear? Harry Potter's been attacked by a dementor!" she announced, a grin spreading on her face as she saw the reactions on all of their faces. She left without another word, her braid bouncing as she hurried off to spread the news, "The new defense teacher had to save them."

"Harry and Ron share the same-" Fred and George looked at each other and all at once, started sorting through their chocolates.

In almost seconds, they had a decent pile of completely normal candies to give to the third years. Merlin grabbed one off the top and slid it into his robe pocket, just in case he started to feel any after effects from the dementor attack later. Sometimes, it really was best to err on the side of caution (especially if doing so involved sweets). Fred went off to deliver the safe chocolates to his brother and the rest of his third year friends.

The rest of the train ride to Hogwarts was eerily quiet, especially considering Merlin’s current company. This didn’t bode well for the rest of the school year, but at least the train’s silence gave Merlin time to think. Harry Potter had been the one to defeat Voldemort for the first time, which gave the world a bit of rest from the war.

But now that he had reappeared in the wizarding world, he seemed the center of at least one extreme danger, one that landed him in the infirmary every year he’d been at Hogwarts, and Merlin had been told that each event was connected to Voldemort himself.

Was that why he himself had never come face to face with Voldemort? Because of Harry? Merlin could remember countless magical beings who knew better than to mess with prophecy, who said that it was not their duty to kill Merlin, so was it because of prophecy that Merlin had never killed Voldemort himself?

And more importantly, what role did Harry have in this?

Absentmindedly, he popped that piece of chocolate into his mouth. It was dark chocolate, a richness that he still appreciated after centuries upon centuries of living poorly, always on the run. He really hadn’t adopted any financial sense until the 18th century, and even that was only because of-

Merlin’s hands flashed to his throat, gripping it as if somehow that would make the sudden tightness release. He couldn’t breathe, even though there was nothing in his throat. He tried to wheeze, and felt one of the twins (or maybe Lee?) pound on his back. He was caught as he fell out of his seat, his body flailing, and felt himself being put onto the ground. His eyes bugged out, flashing gold, and the air around him was buzzing with the electricity of magic.

“He’s never reacted this strongly before,” Lee said, bending over Merlin’s convulsing body, “His pulse is elevating, skin's turning-”

“There was a professor in Ron’s compartment,” George said, and Merlin tried to nod in encouragement. A teacher would be-yes- yes, that would- it was getting harder for Merlin to form coherent thoughts, “I’ll go get him.”

Merlin’s still-golden eyes squeezed shut, but the next thing he was aware of was the sensation of unfamiliar hands passing over his body in a familiar way.  The hands conveyed experience in a medical field with the way they professionally checked down Merlin's body. A diagnostic spell was cast.  Something dry and crispy (leaves?) was forced into his mouth, and he painfully attempted to swallow.

Slowly, too slowly, the magically charged air began to settle and Merlin’s breathing returned to normal. His eyes opened to see an old face dashed with scars, whose light blue eyes were looking at him in a mix of surprise and anger.

“Remus?” Merlin coughed, backing away as far as he could. He only made it a few inches before he hit the bench. The train car was empty, leaving him alone with the older man. He was just under thirty years old now, but Remus's hair was already going gray. His skin was thin and scarred, and his clothes were threadbare. He looked better than the average werewolf, but...

“Myrddian,” Remus said his name carefully, “Why do you look like a teenage boy?”

"Oh," Merlin's voice hitched. He wasn't good at lying at all, much less when he was put on the spot like this, "You're thinking of my dad. Myrddian Myrddian. I hear the resemblance is uncanny."

Remus just stared at him, crossing his arms. Merlin coughed into his sleeve and averted his eyes. After several minutes of complete silence, it was made clear that Remus wasn't going to give this up.

“I mean, uh, technically…” Merlin faltered, “Technically my name now is Emrys Myrddian?”

“How are you a child?” Remus demanded, “You were older than this when I met you. You were twenty three the last time I saw you, older than I was.”

“I’m hardly a child now, Moony,” he laughed nervously, grabbing at the back of his neck. He felt hot. Was he blushing? He had too many tells already. He would cast a cooling charm on himself, but that would cause his eyes to light up and-

“I deserve the truth, Merlin,” Remus sneered, using Merlin’s code name. He flinched at the name, “Why?”

During the war, it had just made sense to use that as his codename. He would answer to that faster than any other name in battle, and in that day, everyone used code names. If a deatheater found out your name, you’d have to look over your shoulder for the rest of your life in case anyone came looking for revenge. 

“You do deserve the truth,” Merlin agreed, but a lifetime of keeping secrets wasn't going to suddenly make an exception, “But Moony, I can’t tell you. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry,” Remus barked out a laugh (Merlin almost let himself crack a grin at that comparison), “Right. Of course. You’re sorry for...what are you? A vampire? No, you have a pulse. So-”

“I can’t tell you, but I can’t change who I am,” Merlin paused, “You’ve known me better than almost anyone. Am I a bad person?”

He would hope not. Remus had seen him fight against deatheaters of every kind of power, only killing in the worst of circumstances. And they'd seen each other at their worst. He had broken out of confinement one full moon, and it had been Merlin and (he hated to think the name) Sirius who had coaxed him back. They had all gone to Lily and James’ baby shower and receptions together. Remus knew him as well as anyone else.

Remus stared at him, as if remembering all of it. He barked out another laugh and looked away, “I knew something was up with you, Myrddian. You're a terrible liar.”

“But you trust me?” Merlin asked, straightening his back. He felt his lips start to stretch into a grin.

“I trust you. You're either going to tell me or I'm going to figure it out, but...I trust you,” he leaned back, “So, what lies are you telling everyone here? I don’t want to get our stories mixed up.”

“Uh, I’m from a druid clan, which is why my magic is different,” he nodded, summing it all up. There wasn’t very much more to it than that, though Harry's bushy haired friend was always asking him for more information, just like how the Ravenclaws all did in their first year. They usually walked away satisfied after he'd explained a ritual or two, or what the druid camps themselves were like. And if he seemed a bit unforthcoming with information at times, that was fine. Druids weren't known for being open with secrets.

Remus looked at him, blue eyes gone wide, “That’s it?”

“Well, I'm a terrible liar. Here I have to have some sort of cover story. I liked being in the Order, where you didn't have to say a thing about yourself as long as you wanted Voldemort dead,” Merlin noticed the lack of a flinch from Remus when he said the name, “There are so many people who fear Voldemort’s name now. But you’ll be proud; Harry seems unafraid of it.”

“Yes, I met him not even an hour ago. He looks so much like James,” Remus sighed, “And-”

“And he has Lily’s eyes,” Merlin finished, feeling that old pang in his heart whenever he really thought about them. Death never got easier for him to deal with. He could feel the balance of the world, and he could feel the scales being so tilted from the widespread death in this world. It hadn’t had the chance yet to right itself, and it wouldn’t as long as Voldemort still lived.

“I think you've missed most of the feast," Remus suddenly said, glancing at his watch, "As have I. Come visit me during a class break sometime. We'll catch up."

Merlin knew Remus well enough to know what 'catching up' meant, and his grin faltered nervously, "Yeah, sounds great. See you."


End file.
